


Strangers in this Town

by dovahgriin



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Gen, Novelization, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Third Person, POV Third Person Limited, Spoilers for Books I-V, Tarot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-04 01:32:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17889026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dovahgriin/pseuds/dovahgriin
Summary: Aza Vallen has lived in the city of Vesuvia for as long as she can remember — which, unfortunately, isn’t as long as one might think. With no memories of any time from before three years ago, her past is as shrouded in mystery as the questions left behind by the murder of the late Count Lucio. All she wants are answers, both for the Countess and herself.





	1. The Magician

**Author's Note:**

> A novelization of the visual novel _The Arcana_ originally written by NixHound.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Aza has Questions, and Asra Leaves (Again).

          Aza is a student of the magical arts. Her master is Asra, the fortune teller. She knows nothing of his past — or her own.

 

_Presently…_

 

          “I’ll miss you,” Asra says. It’s the dead of a moonless night. _The right time for beginning a journey,_ he’d told her earlier. “Here… take this. For you to play around with while I’m gone.”

 _A gift? This can’t be good._ Asra hands her a small pouch sewn of burgundy crushed velvet. Aza runs her hands over it reverently, feeling the vibrations of old magics as they buzz beneath the fabric. She raises her eyes to lock gazes with her teacher. “Your Tarot deck? You think that I’m ready for it, Master?”

          “You’re still calling me that…” he sighs, looking away as he  runs a hand through his silvery-blond curls. “You know I can’t answer that question for you, Aza. You’ve made incredible progress, but you still haven’t let go of your doubts. Do _you_ think that you’re ready?”

          “Why don’t you ever answer my questions?” She knows that the question combined with her tone of voice is childish and petulant, but it really does always seem as through the fortune-teller only ever answers her questions with questions of his own.

          “I don’t?” Asra looks surprised. Aza shakes her head in response, twin braids swinging from side to side. His smile is rueful, the high points of his cheekbones flushing faintly. “Well. I may not have all the answers you seek, but…”

          “The cards do,” Aza finishes for him. It is what he has always told her and, while it irritates her to no end, Aza knows that he does have a point.

          “If you know how to use them,” he reminds her gently. “And,” Asra continues, “you _do_ know how to use them, whether you believe me or not, Aza.”

          He has a familiar gleam in his lilac eyes when he pulls back the beaded curtains hanging on the far wall. The doorway that they had obscured leads to the back room, where Asra (and, as of late, Aza) perform readings for customers. “Now, let’s see how well you’ve learned. It has been a while since we last practiced… together.”

          Aza steps through the doorway. The reading room is always chilly, even with bright sunlight streaming in through the single window overlooking the street outside during the day. It is not the cool air that causes the fine hairs on Aza’s arms to stand on end, however — it is the aura of the raw energy that has built up within the four walls that inspires such a reaction. Aza had once questioned Asra about it, and he has likened it to how a sponge holds water — when he (or Aza) draw upon the Arcana during a reading, they pull energy from beyond this world through the veil that separates the Arcana’s realms from their own. That energy spills over when making a connection with the Arcana and then infuses the room with pure energy.

          The beaded curtains click against one another as Asra follows Aza inside. They kneel in unison beside the low table situated in the center center of the room, relaxing into the slightly overstuffed cushions. Asra watches her expectantly. It takes Aza a few moments to realize that he is waiting for _her_ to pull out the deck and prepare it. Her neck prickles with embarrassment. She clears her throat, fumbling the Tarot cards as she pulls them out of their pouch.

          The aura of the room intensifies.

          Aza closes her eyes and breathes in slowly as she shuffles the deck, feeling the energy swirling around them. She doesn’t see the way Asra’s eyes linger on her fingers as she shuffles the cards. His gaze is on her forehead when she opens them again.

          She pauses as something slick and cool brushes against her exposed ankle. “Hm?”

          “We’re not alone,” Asra says, shifting on his cushion to reach down under the table. A silvery-blue flash of scales catches the light of the candles. It is the serpent Faust, Asra’s longtime familiar. She twines up Asra’s arm, sliding beneath his crimson vest and coming to rest on his shoulder like a bird. He strokes a finger down her scales as she turns to Aza, tongue flicking out to taste the air. She looks pleased to see her.

          Asra clears his throat, saying, “If we’re _all_ here, now… we should begin.”

          Aza shuffles and cuts the deck once more, fingers steadier this time ‘round. Power radiates from the cards as she lays them out in the form of an inverted triangle. She sets the rest of the deck down to the side, letting her gaze linger on the stack of cards as she sucks on her lower lip. Aza moves her hands to hover over the facedown cards, feeling out whichever’s call is the strongest. The pull is most insistent from the upper left card, and so that is the one she flips upright.

          The serene, feathered face of the High Priestess stares up at her from the card. “... Ah.”

          “What is she telling you?” Asra leans forward, fingers steepled in front of his mouth. His expression is… expectant. “Is she speaking to you now?”

          Aza looks up at him, askance, as she replies, “They always do.”

          And it is true. While the cards speak in no _human_ tongue, their voices are always present in her head. They are simply more distinguishable when the cards are out. Asra looks at Aza steadily, violet eyes glittering in the candlelight. “What does she say?”

          Aza frowns as she listens to the whispers. “You… you have forsaken her.”

Asra looks surprised, and then thoughtful. “I have?”

          “Yes,” Aza continues, voice growing steadier. “You’ve pushed her away and buried her voice. She… she calls out to you, but you… you don’t listen.” A wave of dread washes over Aza, turning her blood to ice. “Master, if you don’t listen to her—!”

          A knock sounds on the front door of the shop before Aza can say anything more, breaking her out of her trance. _A customer? At this time of night?_

          “Did you forget to put the lantern out again?”

          Aza frowns, shaking her head. “No. I remember putting it out before closing the shop.”

          “Hm.” Asra stands, straightening his tunic. “It is just as well,” he says softly. “I can’t stay any longer.”

          He leaves the room as Aza pushes herself to her feet. She pads after him, bare feet making little noise against the smooth wooden floor of the shop. Asra stops in front of the back door, hand resting on the doorknob. His violet eyes briefly meet Aza’s own blue ones as he pulls his multicolored scarf up over his nose, just below his eyes.

          “Well…” he hesitates, gaze raking over Aza’s face. “Take care of yourself, Aza.” From the expression on his face, Aza assumes that he has something else to say. She waits patiently, watching Asra deliberate with himself. Finally, he sighs and shakes his head. “Until we meet again.”

          He turns away as he opens the door and vanishes into the gloomy night. Aza lingers in the doorway, straining to see any sign of the other magician. All she finds is the lingering trace of Asra’s magic in the air, leading towards the desert. With a sigh, she closes the back door and latches it shut.


	2. The High Priestess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Aza has Two Mysterious Visitors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy tolito, this one is a doozy. i'm starting to go off-script in it, so not everything is taken from the game, now (joy!). leave a kudos if you liked it!

          The knocking continues as Aza steps away from the back door, gradually becoming louder and more insistent. She’s more than half-tempted to just ignore whoever it is and go to sleep (it  _ is _ rather late, after all). Aza shakes herself and pinches the fat of her cheeks. 

          “Enough,” she mutters to herself. “Deal with whoever this is, and  _ then  _ you can go to bed.”

          Even as she moves towards the door, Aza’s eyes longingly find the stairs that lead up to the living quarters. 

          She reaches the door and presses her cheek against the well-sanded wood as she peers through the peephole. In the dim light of the street lanterns, a slender hooded figure stands before the door of the shop. Their hands twist anxiously before them. Even in the poor lighting of the street, Aza can see jewels glittering on their fingers and wrists. 

          Aza can’t see their face. 

_           Please, please go away,  _ she begs the stranger mentally. Naturally, her thoughts go unheard and the stranger reaches forward to knock  on the door again. 

          Sighing reluctantly, Aza reaches up to unlatch the bronze lock. She opens the door.

          “Forgive me for the hour, but…” The figure steps over the threshold, unwinding the heavily-embroidered shawl from around their neck  as they go. “... I will not suffer another sleepless night. Please, you must read the cards for me.”

          The elegant cloth slips away from the stranger’s face, revealing a bronzed aquiline profile and wide carmine eyes. At the sight of her, Aza’s heart leaps into her throat. 

          “It has to be you,” the Countess says. “It  _ must  _ be you.”

          It takes Aza a moment to gather her words. “If it is a reading you seek, my lady, you’ve come to the right place.”

          Nadia Satrinava raises one finely manicured brow. “So I’ve been told. Your reputation precedes you, magician.” She looks off to the side, eyes suddenly far away. “Beggars and nobles alike… the people of this city whisper your name in wonder.” The side of her mouth quirks up, “Though, in my dream, you were… different.”

          Aza frowns.  _ In her dream? This is the first I’ve heard of the Countess having prophetic dreams. _

          “No matter. I come with a proposal for you,” Countess Satrinava continues. Aza holds up a hand.

          “Wait, you had a dream about me?” 

          “... Yes. It is an unwelcome ability I have come into possession of. My dreams are haunted by visions of a future waiting to unfold.” 

_           She certainly  _ **_looks_ ** _ haunted,  _ Aza thinks to herself, for it is true — the Countess’s face is tired, and though her makeup hides it well, Aza can see the dark circles beneath the Countess’s wine-red eyes. 

          “But the future I saw, the one that brought me to you…” the Countess’s eyes narrow defiantly. “... it is one I will not allow to pass.”

          Her gaze softens as she looks Aza fully in the eyes. “Tell me, magician,” she says softly. “Will you heat my proposal?”

          Aza’s mouth is drier than the sands of the desert outside of Vesuvia’s borders. “P-Proposal?”

          Countess Satrinava’s mouth curls in amusement. “Not very talkative, are you? Are you nervous, perhaps? You needn’t be, you know. I require very little of you.

          “Be my guest at the palace for a short while. You will be afforded every luxury, of course. It is as my dreams foretold.” She pauses, considering her next words. “I ask only that you bring your skill as a magician… and the arcana.”

          Aza blinks at the woman before her, her words echoing in her head.  _ Dreams… foretold… the arcana… the  _ **_Arcana_ ** _ …  _ She knows that the realms of the Arcana are from where most magic is drawn, but not very many people that aren’t trained practitioners know that.  _ Either Countess Satrinava was well-educated beyond that which is expected of a noblewoman, or…  _ Aza’s thoughts trail off as she considers the woman before her. 

          To her credit, the Countess meets Aza’s gaze without wavering. “Well…?”

          “I must admit, my lady,” Aza says slowly, “that I am at a loss. What is it that you need  _ me _ for, exactly? I’m not in the habit of making promises that I don’t know if I can keep.”

          The look that the Countess gives Aza is patient. “For now, I wish a reading. To… test the waters, if you will.”

          Aza nods. “That is something that I  _ can _ do. If you’ll follow me, my lady.”

          She leads the Countess through the shop to the reading room, the entire while conscious of the noblewoman’s imperious gaze on her back. Aza is suddenly and painfully aware of how humble the furnishings of the shop are in comparison to the Countess’s fine attire, but the Countess doesn’t seem to notice the difference. Countess Satrinava settles herself on the cushion that is closest the the window and the moonlight illuminates her from behind, gilding her hair silver.

          Though it feels slightly wrong, Aza sits in Asra’s usual spot because it is the one directly across from where the Countess sits. Remnants of Asra’s power linger here, brushing over Aza’s skin like the ghost of a touch. The Countess watches Aza closely as she lays the deck of cards on the polished surface of the table. She seems… apprehensive.

          “Go on,” she says. Aza nods once, reaching over the table to shuffle the cards. As she does so, Countess Satrinava folds her hands before herself and closes her eyes. Aza fans the deck out and holds it close to the Countess. 

          “My lady?” At Aza’s prompting, the Countess opens her eyes a sliver. “I know this is not usual, but… I find that, sometimes, it is best to let the questioner pick the cards.” 

          Eyebrows raised, the Countess complies, sliding three cards out of the deck, keeping them facedown. She does not look at them. Aza thanks her quietly, and she responds with a smile as Aza arranges them in an inverted triangle. A wave of déjá vu washes over Aza. She swears that she can almost feel Asra’s presence behind her, his voice in her ear, whispers on encouraging words on the wind. 

          Asra isn’t there, though. Aza shakes her head minutely, brushing away the residual energy with her own aura. It will only distract her when she is meant to be concentrating on the Countess’s reading.

          Countess Satrinava watches closely as Aza’s hands hover over the cards. Aza’s eyes are closed, and she frowns slightly, the skin between her brows wrinkling up. They sit there in silence for what seems like a lifetime. Finally, Aza’s hand descends on the card making up the tip of the triangle and she flips it face up. 

          The fox-like face of the Magician looks up at the two women through narrow purple eyes. 

          “... the Magician…” The Countess murmurs. Aza looks up at her sharply.  _ Just how much  _ **_does_ ** _ the Countess know of the Arcana? _

          “... Yes.” 

          “How very appropriate,” Countess Satrinava says, leaning back from the table with her arms folded across her chest. The light from the candles dotting the room catches on a particularly large sapphire ring, sending flecks of light dancing over the Countess’s face. Her eyes are narrow, but she isn’t frowning. Aza isn’t sure what to make of her expression. “And what does he hold for me?”

          Aza’s eyes flutter closed as the answer comes, quick and clear as the rivers in the forest: “You have a plan.”

          The Countess’s gaze flicks from the cards to Aza’s face. “Go on…”

          “One that is long in the making. Years upon years.” Aza opens her eyes and meets Countess Satrinava’s gaze. “Now, you seek to set it in motion.”

          The Countess looks… mildly surprised. She leans forward, elbows on the edge of the table as her hands rest flat on top of it. Her eyes flash brilliantly in the candlelight.  “And? Should I move?”

          “Yes,” Aza intones. “The time to act is now. Everything has fallen into place.”

          “Say no more.” Countess Satrinava abruptly stands, jostling the table as she does so. She casts another thoughtful glance at the card as she brushes past Aza on her way through the beaded curtains. Aza hurries after her into the shop proper. 

          The Countess turns to face Aza. Her expression has Aza’s heart racing in anxiety. “Your fortunes are simple, much the same as the others that I’ve heard. And yet…” she trails off, gaze distant. “And yet, you are the first to pique my interest.”

          Aza isn’t sure how to respond.

          Countess Satrinava begins to rewrap her shawl about her head and shoulders. The green-gold fabric shimmers in the low, warm light of the shop. 

          “Ahem.” The Countess looks pointedly between Aza and the front door of the shop. It takes a moment, but realization dawns on Aza, along with a vague sense of embarrassment. She trips over her feet in her hurry to the door. The Countess catches Aza by the arm, just before she hits the ground. She looks on, mildly amused, as Aza flushes and hurried to open the door for her. “Until tomorrow, then, magician. Pleasant dreams.”

          With that said, she glides over the threshold and into the misty night. Still as a statue, Aza stands in the doorway.  _ What on earth could the Countess want with  _ **_me_ ** _ , _ she wonders to herself.  _ Why me, out of all of the fortune tellers of the city? _

          Aza returns inside.  _ All that talk about my ‘reputation’... _ She locks the door.  _ Could it be that she mistook me for — ? _

          “Strange hours you keep,” an unfamiliar voice says. Aza shrieks and leaps to the side, banging her hip on the corner of the counter. She looks around the shop, eyes watering. 

          “Who’s there?” She summons a crackling ball of fire to one hand. Her eyes dart around the room, chasing dark shadows that seem to leap and dance with every move that she makes.  “Show yourself!”

          “Behind you,” the voice says, and she whirls around. Sure enough, there is a stranger standing behind the counter. She scrambles backwards, pressing herself against the smooth, worn wood of the door. They are tall and thin, but the white plague mask and black-and-red cloak that they wear makes them seem much larger. The stranger steps towards Aza, looming over her like some gangly giant. She grits her teeth and raises the hand that is holding fire. 

          “Stay back,” she threatens. Surprisingly, he — for the stranger is a  _ man _ , Aza realizes with a jolt of fear —  listens and stops.

          “My sources tell me that this is the witch’s lair,” he drawls, folding his arms. Aza blinks.

          “The… witch?”

          “Yes, the witch. But you look nothing like I was told, so tell me: who might  _ you _ be?” Aza’s heart picks up speed again as the strange man advances on her once again. He… doesn’t seem concerned about her flames, and that in itself is enough to have them sputtering out. 

          “W-Wh-Who’s asking?” Aza curses herself as her tongue stumbles over her words, and the slip-up of her stutter has her cheeks flushing a brilliant pink. The man pauses. 

          “ _ I’m _ asking. I would rather not to have to do so again.” He sighs behind the mask, a muffled exhalation of air. “But… if it will make you talk…”

          Aza flinches as the leather creaks and squeals when the strange man pulls the mask off of his face and tosses it from the floor. The first thing that she notices about him is his  _ nose _ — it’s absolutely  _ enormous. _ Her eyes are then drawn to the eyepatch over his right eye.  _ He’s handsome enough, overall, _ she thinks mildly.  _ A nice face. _

          But… something niggles at the back of her mind, a thought that she just can’t catch.  _ He looks so familiar…? _

          “Well, I can tell by the look on your face,” the man smirks, “Shock. Horror. You know who I am, don’t you?”

          Something clicks in Aza’s mind, and she is surprised to find that he is right — she  _ does _ know him. This man… the townspeople used to call him — “Doctor Jules?”

          The doctor looks surprised, brown eye widening slightly as his gloved hands fall to his sides. “Huh. Haven’t heard  _ that _ name in years.” His expression morphs into a scowl. The leather of his gloves creaks as he clenches his fists. “Quickly, now.  _ Where is the witch?” _

          Aza scoffs. She is now absolutely certain that this man is looking for Asra. “L-Look, I don’t know anything, a-and even  _ if _ I did, I wouldn’t tell someone who barged into my  _ h-home _ !”

          The doctor’s mouth draws into a tight smile. “And here I thought we could keep things civil.” He folds his arms again. Doctor Jules towers over Aza, chilling the air around them. “Well… if you will not tell me where he is…” It’s like a switch is flipped on his personality, and suddenly the man smiles at her. “Won’t you at least tell my fortune?”

          The change in his voice and face is enough to send Aza reeling, so to speak. She stares at the doctor, taking a moment to process his jump from threatening to asking for a reading. “I-I-I... Huh?”

          “That  _ is _ what the back room is for, yes?” Aza bristles at his condescending tone. 

          “Yes, it is,” she says between gritted teeth.  _ Who does he think he  _ **_is_ ** , _ coming in here like this…? _ “If you’ll follow me,  _ sir. _ ”

          She leads the doctor through the beaded curtains and into the reading room. Arms crossed, Aza waits impatiently for Doctor Jules to sit down before doing so herself, foot tapping all the while. The doctor waits for Aza to sit before leaning his arms on the table, hands folded. “So, if I remember correctly, I must simply think of a question that I want an answer to and then you flip a card?”

          “... That’s the barest bones description, but yes.” Aza grabs the deck from where she left it after following the Countess out of the room and shuffles it. Irritation makes her fingers sure and quick, and she doesn’t hesitate in dealing the cards out in the inverted triangle (again). Closing her eyes, she breathes in sharply, but lets it out slowly, trying to picture all of the excess negative energy leaving her body on that breath. 

          Calmer now, Aza reaches for the cards.

          The doctor slaps his hands on top of hers, effectively pinning them to the table. 

          “Hey!” Aza pulls away — or, rather, she tries to. Doctor Jules has a grip on her like a viper and doesn’t let go no matter how hard she tugs.

          “Now, answer me this, magician: where is the witch?” 

          “My master is gone.”

          The doctor looks irritated. “Yes, I know  _ that _ .  _ Where _ has he gone?”

          “I don’t know.” Aza’s mouth tightens imperceptibly as the man scoffs. “L-Let me go and I will read the cards for the answer you seek.”

          “... Very well.” Doctor Jules releases Aza’s hands. She snatches then back, rubbing at her wrists as she channels a small healing charm through her fingers. Her skin glows a bright blue for a moment, then returns to its normal shade of peach. She’s pleased when the doctor looks guilty. 

          Aza’s eyes slide shut as she feels the energy of the cards laid out on the table — each is equally strong, which is… unusual. Eventually, the card making up the upper right corner of the inverted triangle proves to be the loudest. Aza’s fingers nimbly flip the card face up. 

          Her mind begins to race. No voice can be heard from the card, no sound at all aside from the pounding of blood in her ears. “... Death.”

          “Death?” The doctor’s voice is incredulous. “ _ Death? _ ” His laughter is uncontrollable, as sharp and cold as ice. However, as soon as it starts, it stops. His brows pull downward, as do the corners of his lips. “You’ve got to be joking.”

          Aza jumps in her seat as he abruptly stands, slapping the tabletop with open hands. “Death cast her gaze on this wretch and turned away. She has no interest in an abomination like me.”

          He spins and leaves the reading room. Aza scrambles to her feet and follows close on his heels. She feels nothing but confusion, rather than the fear from earlier. 

          The doctor stops in his tracks, and Aza bumps into his back. He turns to peer down his nose at her. “You’ve been hospitable, so I’ll let you in on a little secret,” his voice drops to a whisper, even though he and Aza are the only two people in the shop. “Your witch friend will be back for you. He’s taught you all his little tricks. You may even say that he  _ cares _ for you.

          “But when he returns…” the doctor bends over at the waist to grab his beaky mask from the floor, staring into its red glass eyes. “Seek me out. For your own sake. That…  _ creature _ … is far more dangerous than you know.”

          Aza bristles. “My master  _ isn’t  _ dangerous!”

          Doctor Jules shrugs. “So you say. Keep my warning in mind, though. I promise I won’t say ‘I told you so’ when things go wrong.” With an exaggerated wink, he slips the mask back onto his head, securing it with a leather strap beneath his reddish curls. 

          “The hour is late, and it seems that my time is up. Don’t let him fool you.” He opens the door and slips out into the early morning mists, letting the door slam shut behind himself. Aza stares hard at the door, like it is the  _ door’s  _ fault for the doctor’s melodramatic warning.

          Shaking her head, Aza locks the front door of the shop and, one by one, puts out all the lit candles. She summons a bobbing orb of light once she is finished, and makes her way up the stairs to her closet of a bedroom. Aza strips down to her shift and practically falls into bed. She is asleep before her head hits the pillow.


End file.
